How I Wish We Didn’t Part Ways. You Remain Completely Intact In My Memories And Sometimes I Wish I

The thing most heartbreaking about it all is falling in love again. It's insanity wanting to repeat the process, taking chances and trying all over again despite the failures and pain, now that, that has to be heartbreaking. To think you've dealt with the worst thrown at you and to crawl back out from under the sheets, with wounds only healing, barely being held by stitches you made half awake in pain, maybe drunk. Why would you want to do it all over again?

To be brave enough to put your heart back out on the line 'cause the last hit and run didn't kill you. Yet. To start a conversation with men who could care less but of course, you manage to convince yourself otherwise in the name of hope these days. To drive yourelf crazy whenever they don't respond or when you get stood up or when you make a comment and that worked before but didn't now and you look stupid for trying. When you do your best to really just be loved but God, they make it so hard.

You get a little more mad each day. Waking up, thinking that the day ahead will hurt less than the day before but we both know that, that statement dissolves away everytime you see him around the corner, creeping into your thoughts and mind with things and words and places that remind you of him. You lose pieces of yourself over time each day and you can barely hold it all together, but you still try anyways.

Then, one day, God gets tired of playing with you so he sends someone your way and just for a bit it seems okay. You don't lose your mind, you start trusting him (because loving wasn't enough) and you tell him things that made you sad, that hurt you, you speak of your demons and pain, not to garner sympathy but in hopes he understands better, in hopes that he will know better. Eventually, you lose track of time and the days drift by and all you do is smile and fill your days with his presence. Slowly, you start falling in love again and when you're completely losing yourself for him, he pulls back without hesitation and now, you're falling, unbound when you should have been held. By the time you realize that you're broken, he's gone, God's laughing and you're back to square one with nothing left but a bleeding mess we call heart, a broken one in fact. Too broken this time around.

So no, the worst always comes after the heartbreak. To be brave enough to try and fail again and maybe there's a beauty in that but it is insanity, really; doing the same things over and over again all while expecting different outcomes. It is heartbreaking. Love is heartbreaking...

© Raina Rose.

Summer Breeze

Morning sun blazing through the window panes, curtains that flutter against the summer breeze, butterflies settling on my sunflowers awaiting a dehydrated death as the climate and my forgetfulness; both, deteriorate at the worst possible time.

The faint scent of musky cologne, the brightest streaks of gold in your brown eyes, the ever-growing stubbles of your heart desired moustache and beards of November, your breath warm against my neck, the leather jacket, scuffed denim jeans, classic Vans and the endless songs that run on my stereo are just some of the things I never seem to forget about you.

After all these years, you'd think it'd be easier to wake each day and walk these streets like it was never faulted, like we were never wounded but we marked these places. Every corner I turn, every step I take, every place I go, seems to bring you back afresh in my memories, undead, alive. So, I notice the cracks on the tiles instead, the mundane colours of the bricks, the overwhelming aroma of coffee, and cigarettes, and some other men.

The sky, the way it goes on, never-ending, but somehow different from the day before and will be the day after. Where do the clouds go, how does the sun sustain its own heat, does it get lonely high up there, what does it feel like to fly and why did you leave me here alone? Questions, I never seem to have the answers to. Questions, you loved asking and wondering, your mind, vast like the sky and ocean, never bound by limitations and regulations.

Days have gone by and everything around me has changed, everything except me. I try to explain a love I hold within myself but no, such precious things cannot be put to words. They may ask, but they never could understand. So, I left them thinking I'm clueless and empty, hurt and withdrawn, desperate and wilting but only the world left inside of me knows how I thrive every second of every day when I get your thoughts, the millions of flowers I'll plant thinking of us, the brilliance and words I'll pour onto paper creating illusions for those who'll love our stories, the melody in pain that only I'll understand for years to come and seeing you in every single thing that I do is not a chore but choice. It's serenity.

Summers have gone by and you're not coming back, the ship that set sail for a thing never known to be found - desire, was what had you lost. I understand, this was a journey you had to make, to yield more than you gave, to take what was not yours, to comprehend things left as is, to boost the flames and burn yourself whole. Sometime, not long ago, your soul found its way home and I feel your warmth with every step I take. These steps are heavy but fret not, with the strength of two, I'll make us whole again. So I tried setting sails for a journey I knew led to torments and afflictions, stopped myself half a mile away from paradise, from you. What I needed was something I'll never find. And what I might find, will never be what I need or want. That summer breeze took you whole and I had to let you go...

© Raina Rose.

Monday, you promised you'd come home, the door was left open.

Tuesday, a little late but I thought I could wait.

Wednesday, I went through the laundry to find your clothes, hoping they still smelled like you.

Thursday, tasted a lot like you when I emptied the bottle of bourbon.

Friday, I was sober enough to think again but you were still missing.

Saturday, I got a call asking if I'd written the eulogy.

Sunday, I realized you were never coming home again...

© Raina Rose.

365 Days Without You

I always thought grief would be black and white, monotonous for the most part. Then I thought it would be grey, like the clouds, right before it rained, holding onto as much as you can till you fall apart. But the past year has taught me that grief has colors, colors no one stops to notice or understand, colors I never thought I’d see again...

Sometimes grief would be blue, like the sky that goes on without an end, it was quiet and calm, maybe a little long yet soothing despite the sorrow deep within. Grief was green, like the trees, grass, and weeds that grew on the side of your grave, grief was growth and life despite the life lost. Grief was red, like the million flowers we arranged atop your grave in hopes you could smell them the way we could, red like the anger that kept seething despite all the rational thoughts and beliefs, a little faulty and unpredictable. Then, grief was yellow, it was funny with a little drop of sunshine where you could only think to find darkness, it was proof you could smile despite adversities. Grief is anything but the gloomy, grey picture we often paint in our heads.

I still vividly remember the day I received the call at work. I had only imagined what pain and sorrow would feel like until that moment, and despite knowing the worst has happened, all I felt was complete numbness. I could have sworn I held my breath on the ride home, wishing the car to speed past traffic lights, but also praying not to reach, not to ever find out what was awaiting me at the end of the journey. I was not prepared for this goodbye despite knowing and feeling its lingering presence for months. I was not ready to let you go… 

I had so much to say and yet silence engulfed me whole for months. I could never quite put my thoughts into words the way I wanted to, I could not speak to a wall thinking your presence filled the room or think of you as an angel living in the heavens above, looking down on me. I could not simply pretend you still were here, yet I could not completely fathom your absence long enough to understand that you were gone forever.

Maybe I was a little mad, but more than anger, it was sadness in a way I had never felt before. It was in knowing nothing would ever come close to having spent decades with you ever again. It was in knowing I could never again hold your hand as we walked through the park, never again drink the coffees that you make or share your favorite strawberry ice creams with you, it was in knowing I could never again hear your voice calling me out as I walked past your room, never again having your presence in celebrations and festivities that you dearly looked forward to. It was in knowing you’d never again sing along to the songs that played on the radio, never again waking up in the wee hours to catch World Cup matches, listening to your commentary and supporting Brazil because that was your favorite team. It was in knowing you’d never be the one who takes up the spot right next to me in family portraits and birthday photographs, it was in knowing I have kissed you goodbye for the last time and put you six feet deep where I could not quite reach you the way I wanted to. My sorrow was tied to never having you again, and knowing that there is still much I needed you for in life. It is tied to the absence and void that I now have to live and make peace with because there isn’t much else to do…

I expected myself to feel lost, to go through tons of emotions, behave irrationally, throw tantrums, and spend most of my days and nights in complete solitude. Life was a far cry from what I’d imagined, I spent most of my days after your loss swamped with work and I was surprisingly good at it. And when I couldn’t breathe, I found myself locked in a toilet or curled up on the bed, holding myself together on the brink of losing it, praying to keep it together for just a bit longer. This was a huge loss for the entire family, and with the emotional rollercoaster we all rode those months, I found it necessary to keep all my pain and sorrow hidden. I made the most jokes, recalled your time with us animatedly and did what I could to make sure everyone was okay. Most days, I kept myself mentally and physically busy to the point when I hit the bed, there was no room for thinking, let alone overthinking. All I did for a good six months or so, was work, exhaust myself and sleep.

Life took a complete turn overnight and I was nowhere near prepared for a death I knew was coming and would completely shatter me.

Tell me, how does one prepare for the complete absence of a loved one for the rest of whatever forever we have left…

I am grateful for photographs and videos of you; they bring you back whole to me for a split second every time I catch a glimpse of them. Sometimes, with my eyes closed, I could swear I feel you right here with me. In the moments I spend most alone, most broken and find myself hurting and longing for your comforting hug and presence, I feel myself break in a way I could never explain. But in those very moments, I think you’re somewhere nearby, holding my hands, silently sitting with me, the way you always did. I know you are right here. 

You’re in every flower that blooms in my garden, in every innocent smile and laughter of every child I meet on the streets, in the black coffees I drink every morning now, and in your favorite songs that play constantly on my playlist. You’re everywhere I turn, and it is not painful anymore. It’s comforting to know the things you’ve left behind in the form of objects, routines, and habits help hold me together in knowing you’re just as much here as you were before when I feel a little abandoned in life.

It still feels like you’re asleep in an unknown, unfindable room in this house, I still wait to see if you’d come walking down the hall whenever we gather for family time like you always do, I still think you’re here whenever I turn another corner or sit on your couch waiting for you to magically appear again as though nothing went amiss, like the past year didn't happen. I wonder if I prayed long and hard enough, if you'd come right back and life would resume playing out the way it was supposed to.

Sitting here, I could tell you I did not believe I’d make it past the first 24 hours, let alone a whole year. It feels surreal, like a never-ending dream I hope to awaken from and find you laughing with me as I recall every little detail, but it all feels less probable and more an unchanged reality as time passes by. With every day that begins and ends without you, know that I carry you in my heart, know that every step I take and every single thing I do, will embody you, and it will be something I hope makes you proud.

Tell me what I missed when I see you again, tell me how much you missed me and hold me till I feel whole again, tell me all your wonderful adventures from when you were young again even though I remember every story, every word, by heart, the way I do you.

I will always hold you in my heart for whatever life and eternity there is left to live,

with eternal love,

Rose.

In loving memory of my most beloved grandfather♥️

© Raina Rose 

Where did you come from, I'll never know. What you're doing to me, I'll never understand. How did you get this close, I didn't plan on it either. When do you intend to go, I don't wish to know...

Stay,

© Raina Rose.

Liberation

Maybe I don't understand, not everything, that'd be a lie. For only you'd comprehend your feelings whole and sometimes even we can't understand what we feel, so to say I completely understand would be a total lie. But I do know, what it feels like to wanna be up, to give up that sleep and be invested in a conversation, to risk being sleepy the next day than to sleep and surrender all that could have been. I've been there, those sleepy days may feel terrible but every moment, every conversation of that night keeps me smiling and lifted through the day. Sometimes, there's even a glimmer of excitement hoping for the same the following night.

© Raina Rose.

I've missed plenty, but never this way, it feels like a part of me left and has yet to return. I can't help but feel incomplete whenever I'm not with you.

Come home love,

R.

It's a choice to be in love, as it is to be hurt by the ones we love. It's often those we love, that hurt us the most, because we've given them the ability to do so. We let them have special places in our hearts, prioritise them, their needs and wants, maybe get a little addicted to their company with more time and similar routines and let ourselves merge as though the process often completes us and makes us whole. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't. But it is a choice, all of it is. And as much as it hurts, that's the beauty in love, to choose to be vulnerable with the ones we love, to give them the ability to see us whole, to see us naked, for all that we are, the flaws and beauty, saints and sinners. We choose to be in love knowing it might just wreck havoc before it's all over. We choose love over and over again, because despite the pain, there is beauty in vulnerability, there is beauty in being hurt by love, by the ones we love. This was our choice, to love and to hurt.

© Raina Rose.

It would be a lie if I said I didn't try. Maybe it was late, but it was worth saving. You were worth saving. And sometimes you have to walk away, even from things you love most so that you can save yourself before anything, or anyone else. Is that selfish? Perhaps, but I can never be selfish when it comes to you. So I walked into the forest, danced through fire, breathed air that felt like poison, drank lies, mostly the ones I told myself, slept in cold, lay myself bare, only to find you. And I found you by breaking myself apart. It would be a lie if I said I didn't try...

© Raina Rose.